


nighty night

by cherotonin



Series: this universe gave me a gift (of course, that gift was you) [1]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, M/M, Peter Parker Gets a Hug, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Pre-Relationship, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, author's first spideypool fic pls be gentle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-28 15:55:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19815565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherotonin/pseuds/cherotonin
Summary: “Hey, Petey,” says Deadpool one night, crawling in through the window and not bothering to shut it behind him. “You ever wonder whether a squirrel or a lobster would win in a fight?”Baby, it's cold outside. And inside. Actually, Peter's just cold, and he has a proposal due later this week, and he knows Wade always means well but the least he could do is close the window after he comes in, please. (A lot of shameless fluff and snuggles. Nothing more, nothing less.)Update Nov 2019: now with a sequel,rise and shine, or dream a little longer!





	nighty night

**Author's Note:**

> i got back from vacation a few days ago and i'm still jetlagged so posting this at 3am yeah babey!! i've loved these two for a long time but haven't gotten around to writing (or posting) anything until now u__u ) hope that this is the first fic of many!

“Hey, Petey,” says Deadpool one night, crawling in through the window and not bothering to shut it behind him. “You ever wonder whether a squirrel or a lobster would win in a fight?”

“Close the window behind you,” Peter says, not looking up from where he’s working. His laptop is open to the same document it’s been open to for the past three hours, a proposal that he needs to turn in by the end of the week. He’s made some progress since he started, which is nice, but it’s still mostly unfinished, which is unfortunate, and Deadpool crashing in here certainly isn’t going to make it easy for him to finish. And it _is_ Deadpool speaking right now and not Wade, judging by the sliver of steel that hasn’t yet left the other man’s voice, and the eerily quiet way that he slides the window shut without a sound.

He hears the soft _whoosh_ of the air leaving his sad, old couch as a body seats itself, but Deadpool doesn’t say anything. Peter shuts his laptop and leaves it on his bedside table, then crosses over from his bed to the couch to seat himself gently at Deadpool’s side.

For a moment, he lets himself bask in the clarity of the moment: the rise and fall of his own chest, the dim moonlight mixed with streetlamp glare that filters through his dirty windows, the solid warmth that Deadpool’s body radiates into his little one-room studio apartment.

Then he says, “I’m pretty sure it would be a lobster.”

Deadpool jerks back into motion, as if a switch has been flipped. He swivels around in his seat so that he’s finally facing Peter, instead of the opposite wall, and begins to gesture wildly with his hands.

“Petey-pie, I know that, between the two of us, you’re the one that’s got all the sciencey knowledge and shit, but that can’t be right. I mean, what the fuck can a lobster do in a fight, right? But squirrels, man, squirrels are some real vicious motherfuckers. You’ve lived in New York forever, you know that there’s nothing that those furry demons wouldn’t do for a piece of your hot dog.”

He leans forward conspiratorially. “Imagine what they’d do for a chunk of lobster.”

Peter tilts his head and considers this, involuntarily moving closer to Wade as he does an exaggerated version of a thinking expression. “Well, I suppose you’ve got a point there. Squirrels definitely have the _spirit_ to win. But, I don’t know, lobsters have pretty thick skins. Shells. Whatever.”

Actually, Peter’s heater broke down three days ago, and he won’t get his next paycheck from the Bugle until the end of this week, which is also when his proposal is due, so lobster shells don’t even make the top 10 in the List of Things On Peter’s Mind Tonight. Before Wade broke into his apartment – he says this as though his window’s ever been locked since he unmasked himself in front of it – the list was mostly composed of stress about his proposal and the enduring the overwhelming chill of New York winter. Now, questions about the scope of his research and what kind of shots of Spider-Man he’ll submit to Jameson this week fade to background noise, replaced by useless, unhelpful thoughts like _Wow, I’ve been cold for a long time_ and _I bet Wade isn’t cold_.

Damn, maybe that’s why his brain has been working so slowly tonight. Not being able to feel your toes will do that to you, Peter guesses. He abandoned all his blankets on the bed after he got up to use the bathroom earlier, so now that he’s free of his pitiful cocoon, he’s shivering a little bit, hoping his teeth don’t chatter or otherwise signal to Wade what’s going on. What were they talking about before? Oops.

Wade’s still blustering on a little, now fixated on the point about the shells (if he listens closely, he’s pretty sure he can hear the other man describing what he refers to as a “war of nutrition” between the two animals), but Peter’s honestly kind of past that tonight. He’s cold, and he’s tired, and actually now that he thinks about it, his fridge is probably almost empty too, which makes him hungry and also sad just to think about. Wade is close, so close, two hundred pounds of muscle and lacking any “proportional heat retention of a spider” related difficulties, and Peter trusts Wade.

He trusts Wade like he doesn’t trust anyone else in the world, except maybe Aunt May and Gwen before she passed away. He’s trusted Wade with everything he had since the night that he stood in this apartment, high on the adrenaline of a successful night but feeling something indescribably more permanent lodged in his chest, and pulled off the mask.

 _Yeah_ , Peter thinks contently. Cold, hungry, tired, overworked, lonely Peter. _I deserve this._

He gives into the overwhelming urge to move closer, closer, just a little bit closer, and almost instantly ends up sprawled almost in Wade’s lap, arms wrapped around his armored torso and legs tangled together all over the threadbare cushions. Wade cuts himself off in the middle of a tirade about seafood and makes a sound like a squeak. Every single muscle in his body that Peter can feel (and it’s Wade, so that’s, like, a _lot_ ) tenses up.

And then, miraculously, he’s letting loose again, adjusting his arms around Peter’s legs so that he’s essentially a spider-bundle in the ex-mercenary’s arms. Wade’s voice is still firing a mile a minute, now focused on the differences between types of crabs that are commonly found in restaurants and how to ensure that you’re eating sustainably sourced shellfish anyway, Petey, you know that we’re all about keepin’ our Mama Earth as green as can be, yessiree, or would it be blue in this case, since we’re talking about crabs which live in the ocean, but crabs aren’t blue anyway so what would the expression fuckin’ be then?

Peter shifts so that his head is pressed to Wade’s chest ( _yesss_ , those sweet, sweet pecs are just as glorious as he’d dreamed) and every word rumbles pleasantly against his brain. He can feel and hear the older man’s heart beating a million miles an hour – perks of being bitten by a radioactive spider, you can tell when your long-time crush is reacting physiologically to being around you, put _that_ on the brochure, Oscorp – and it’s. Nice. Wade’s arms are strong and furnace-hot around him, and he can finally feel sweet, sweet warmth diffusing its way back into his extremities, his fingers and toes coming back online the longer that he’s in Wade’s arms.

More than that, it’s nice to just be held. To be close to someone else, and feel safe, and warm, and cherished. A few minutes pass, Peter’s eyelids are drooping lower and lower, but Wade’s heartbeat is still the same, rabbit-quick pace it was before. Something flares hot in his cheeks in a way that has nothing to do with his body temperature.

“You know, this isn’t what I expected when I came crawlin’ through tonight, baby boy, but hey, I ain’t complainin’,” Wade says, something like mirth trickling into his voice. It’s astonishing how calm he sounds even when his heart has been racing all this time. Mercenary skills, Peter supposes. “Was just gonna see if you were up for finishing _Good Omens_ since we ended on episode four last time, but looks like I ended up with an armful of sleepy spider instead.”

Peter makes a sound that could possibly be transcribed as “Mrrp” and wiggles a little in Wade’s arms so that the cold part of his butt gets warmed too.

“That’s fair.” Wade nods thoughtfully, then frowns and pokes Peter in the face. “Hey, you’re still up for finishing it, though, right? Even if it’s not tonight. I gotta know what happens.”

Peter musters up the energy to crack open his eyes just enough to watch Wade’s mask contort into a familiar smile when he sticks out his tongue and then says, “’Course. Crowley is my favorite, I couldn’t just drop him after we came this far.”

“Ooh, goody two-shoes Petey-pie likes a bad boy,” Wade sings under his breath. “Didn’t take ya for the type to appreciate a character like him. Y’know, chaotic, causes destruction for fun, shouts at plants, kind of evil. Given your whole, ‘I was raised a good boy who does the right thing’, ‘with great power comes great responsibility’, ‘self-sacrificing superhero’ shtick, you know?”

For the first time in days, Peter feels warm, safe, and at peace, so he can’t be held responsible for what he says next. “Yeah, I don’t mind a bad boy,” he says, blinking lethargically up at the whites of Wade’s mask. Without his permission, the corners of his mouth tug upwards into an affectionate smile. “But I also like a bad boy who’s really good, even if he doesn’t see it like I do.”

For the third time that night, Wade freezes, looking for all the world like a deer in the headlights even with his mask on. Peter’s smile melts into a grin, and he leans up to press a sloppy kiss to the leather of the mask before curling back down into a lazy ball. “Goodnight, Wade.”

“…’Night, Pete.”

**Author's Note:**

> yes peter and wade are watching good omens together and i can't & won't be stopped


End file.
